Target Engaged

by M. L. Buchman

  “This,” she whispered to him without turning. “If I ever had a church, this is what it would look like.”

  “Too bad you’re never going to marry.”

  She appreciated his attempt at being wry, even if she could hear what it cost him by the roughness of his voice.

  “Come on, you.” She reached back and took his hand. “Time to go play tourist.”

  His hand hesitated, then squeezed ever so gently.

  She pulled him forward until they were strolling side by side up the dark marble of the center aisle beneath the blue-vaulted heaven. “I’m really not fragile, you know.”

  “But I—” he croaked out.

  “No. Don’t you dare apologize.” She didn’t know if she could handle it if he did. “I know you. That you’re so upset that you’d…” She raised her arm and then shrugged. “There are things we need to talk about, but now sure isn’t the time.”

  Kyle stopped walking, and by the connection of their hands, her momentum turned her to face him.

  His face was concentrating, like when he’d just received new data he hadn’t figured out how to process yet, and he kept swallowing hard.

  “You want to say it, don’t you?”

  Kyle nodded.

  “If you don’t mind that I can never say it back, I don’t seem to mind hearing it.”

  “How am I supposed to come to the bed of a woman who will never say she loves me? At some point you’ve got to—”

  “No,” she warned him, keeping her tone as mild as she could. “No, I don’t.”

  He studied her through narrowed eyes for a long moment and then surprised the shit out of her when he burst out laughing. It rang off the ceiling and seemed to fill the church with light.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her on the forehead. “Aren’t we the two most ridiculous people ever born.” It wasn’t a question.

  She nodded her agreement. He held her close and she buried her face in his collar. They’d been apart for hours, not days, and she’d missed him so much.

  “God help us both, but I do love you, Carla Anderson.”

  Weird.

  She didn’t mind hearing it one little bit.

  Chapter 22

  “Excúseme. I hate to interrupt.”

  Kyle turned at Tanya’s gentle voice, her English now liberally Spanish-influenced. They had decided that with Kyle’s less-than-fluent Spanish and Carla’s detectably non-Mexican accent, it was better to play an American card and pretend scant knowledge of the local tongue.

  It was only their first-level intelligence-gathering meeting. If this went well, they’d have more information on how to continue their strikes against the Cartel de los Soles.

  Chad chose that moment to rub his hand across his throat and smile at Kyle ever so blandly.

  Kyle resisted the urge to gut punch the man.

  Carla was still tucked close against him. They had a lot to figure out yet, if they could. But that wasn’t going to be happening right now. They had a role to play.

  Tanya Zimmer had her own arm around Chad’s waist, so she had to be well aware of Chad’s hidden Glock against her forearm.

  Kyle appreciated having one of his own men “hidden” as Tanya’s lover and bodyguard.

  He spotted Richie studiously reading his guidebook about four pews back.

  Duane, dressed as a caretaker, actually nudged Carla out of his way as he worked along the rows of the pews, laboriously dusting their ornate woodwork like a recovering alkie doing his community service, right down to the shaking hands. Kyle could tell that Carla also recognized Duane under his ragpicker guise of grimy billed hat and tattered clothes that appeared to be months from their last laundering. The only thing missing from his disguise was that he didn’t reek, which Kyle appreciated.

  It looked as if Chad had missed him, which Duane was going to love.

  Beside Tanya stood a nondescript man in his middle fifties. Dressed in a good quality but slightly heat-rumpled white suit, he might have been a college professor—right down to the round spectacles that seemed to make him blink more often than normal. His hair and mustache had silvered, and his skin was on the lighter side of most of the city’s natives.

  “Ms. Zimmer.” Kyle inclined his head. “A pleasure to see you again so soon.”

  “Mr. Javits.” It was the only name she had for Kyle and was probably as genuine as her own. “Ms. Zimmer’s” tone was polite and formal. “Allow me please to introduce Señor Bolívar Estevan. I have explained your interest in the local market opportunities. He is much of an expert in that area.”

  “Oh, not an expert, my dear Tanya. I simply have a personal curiosity about such matters. A curiosity that I indulge shamelessly with gossip and rumor.” His English was meticulous and only lightly accented. It had a merry tone, like someone’s favorite uncle. He sounded like the classic absentminded professor—too much so. Combined with the fact that Tanya, who might actually be a Mossad Kidon operative, had set up the meeting, that probably meant he was actually well up the local cartel’s hierarchy.

  “We would appreciate any insights you might offer us, sir.” Kyle waved them to an area of open pews well clear of where any worshippers or tourists were sitting—except Richie, now napping in the corner of his pew.

  He and Tanya sat to either side of Estevan. Carla sat to Kyle’s other side. Chad came to stand in the pew behind them, directly behind Tanya. He was the only one besides Kyle who had an excuse to openly scan the room and remain on alert.

  In the shuffle of taking seats and getting settled, Kyle checked the entrance. He spotted two guards by the main doors. Chad was facing toward the church’s nave and flashed him a subtle “three.”

  Five visible guards. Bolívar Estevan was higher level than Kyle had first supposed. Unless it was a setup, a possibility that couldn’t be ignored.

  Carla started chatting about family and teased how she was mad at Kyle for not yet getting her with child.

  There was an image designed to slam right past his libido and straight into his core. A child by Carla? Holy shit, Batman! He’d imagined love, proposal, even marriage. Child? Children? That would be so… He wished he had a better word than “awesome” but he didn’t.

  Idiota! A woman who insisted she couldn’t love you, and you’re jumping straight to children minutes after nearly snapping her arm.

  Focus, damn it! But the image of a pregnant Carla lingered. It was too easy to imagine. She’d be pissed as hell throughout every minute of the pregnancy and absolutely glorious.

  Thankfully the conversation was still ongoing while his imagination was being completely cross-wired.

  Estevan’s guards weren’t in motion but were very watchful. Situation still stable at the moment.

  The man himself, apparently charmed by Carla, admitted to three children of his own, who were probably fictitious. He even mentioned that his two girls were at the Universidad Rafael Urdaneta, right here in Maracaibo.

  “I think it is so important that women are properly educated,” Carla agreed fervently.

  “As do I.” He offered pictures from his wallet of two girls who had unfortunately taken more after their father than their mother, a very handsome woman whose picture Kyle saw for only an instant.

  Even if the guy was being genuine, Kyle was wondering how to get this conversation back on track.

  “My husband and I”—Carla clasped Kyle’s hand in her feigned excitement—“already have a very lucrative distribution company based in Colorado. We truck into a dozen south-central states. We’ve expanded into the ports this year because we just hated paying ship-to-shore expeditors for work we could do better ourselves. This trip is our research for the vertical integration of our business model. And why not make an extended vacation of it! Kyle is always so much about business; I want to have some fun too. We would so apprec
iate any insights or suggestions you might be able to offer us.”

  Then she turned and practically batted her eyes at Kyle.

  “Can’t you see it, honey? A condo here in town near the nightlife and a quieter place along the lake, out of the fray when we want to work. Ooo! I just love the way that sounds.”

  Bolívar Estevan blanched before her onslaught. But the shift in expression was gone too fast to interpret.

  Before Kyle could catch a breath to respond to Carla’s painted “dream,” she continued on in a rush to Tanya.

  “And you.” Carla leaned toward Tanya until she was practically in Kyle’s lap. He noticed that her sleek, dark blue blouse had somehow become unbuttoned a notch further than it had been when they entered the church. The tiny sailboat swung forward on its chain, catching light and drawing attention downward. A frilly red lace bra he’d never seen before peeked out between the falls of darker fabric.

  “I simply can’t thank you enough, Tanya, for showing me this church. Is it true that it’s three hundred years old?” The last question she placed firmly to Bolívar Estevan without leaning back.

  The poor old guy’s libido didn’t stand a chance when Carla was in this mode. Christ—whose mother’s image was sitting up by the altar watching him—neither did his. Carla was magnificent.

  There had to be a way to convince this woman that she loved him as much as he loved her.

  He was Delta. He could do anything, maybe even change Carla Anderson’s mind.

  * * *

  Carla tried to keep her balance within this fluttery, overexcited character she’d created. Oh God, she was channeling B. G., the airhead cheerleader she’d confined in a high school gym locker. Someone shoot her now. Please.

  Had she gone too far? Or did guys actually buy into this kind of shtick?

  Estevan took off his glasses and wiped them delicately before putting them back on and blinking a few times as if seeing the group of them clearly for the first time.

  Then he turned to Kyle.

  “Your wife is a very passionate woman, señor. I congratulate you on that.”

  “She is, señor. In many ways.”

  They traded guy smiles. That Kyle would pay for later—dearly.

  Estevan inspected her for a moment and then turned to Tanya. “My dear Ms. Zimmer, perhaps this would be a fine opportunity for you to show Señora Carla Javits more of this beautiful church.”

  Ding! Carla wanted to do a victory dance. Too bad she hadn’t worn the sundress with the swirly skirt.

  She didn’t like being dismissed for “the men to talk business,” but the boy looked old school despite educating his daughters. The old phony, he’d probably bought the picture at a flea market.

  Still in “excited cheerleader” mode, she kissed Kyle on the cheek and gushed at Tanya. “Oh, you must tell me about these lovely carved vines.”

  They moved off arm in arm leaving Kyle alone with Señor Estevan.

  Don’t screw it up, sweetheart.

  Chapter 23

  “You love your Kyle very much, don’t you?”

  Carla made sure that their backs were to the men before she glared at Tanya. They stood arm in arm inspecting the fourth alcove along the Basílica’s south wall. It held yet another gilded icon shining in the sun that streamed in through the stained glass.

  Chad had moved along well behind them, clearly torn between his role as Tanya’s bodyguard and his responsibility as a team member who should be supporting Kyle. He compromised by drifting along well behind them but scanning the entire church constantly. Richie had “woken back up” and returned to his guidebook and Chad had finally spotted Duane, so he didn’t appear too worried.

  It afforded a degree of privacy that Carla deeply appreciated at the moment.

  “I wish people would stop saying that.”

  “It is only what I am seeing.” Tanya moved onward, ignoring the icy tone that should have warned her off the subject. Carla could really get to like this woman who didn’t scare easily.

  They passed one of Estevan’s guards, who eyed them carefully as they went by. High-end guard, Carla decided. He wasn’t leering at their bodies; he was actually inspecting them to see if he could spot any weapons and making sure he memorized their faces.

  Maybe Estevan was higher up the food chain than they’d even hoped for. It would certainly simplify the mission, though somehow things never became simpler when they were going well. Just like her and Kyle.

  “What you see is a man who claims to love me.”

  “Whereas you care about him gornisht.” Tanya signaled toward a side door and Carla gladly moved out into the sunshine with her. “Not at all.”

  Close beside the beautiful Basílica was a very cubic, modern glass building.

  “The hospital associated with this church,” Tanya told her. “I also note that you are not agreeing with my statement of how unmoved you are by such a man.”

  Carla hesitated just outside the door to let her eyes adjust to the daylight and scan to see how many other guards Estevan had scattered about the compound. She spotted two: one close, and one at the front corner where he could keep an eye on the front door as well as his companion near their side door.

  Chad stepped into the sunshine and pulled down a pair of shades before confirming Carla’s assessment of two additional guards.

  “I like Kyle, more than I’ve ever liked any man.” Which she had to admit to herself was true.

  “But…”

  “There is no but.” Carla headed toward the rear of the building. Three tall, white domes, painfully bright in the sunshine, towered above the apse of the church. She’d forgotten her sunglasses in the miseries of this morning, though she noted that few locals wore them. Beyond the domes a two-story residence had been added on, painted church yellow but with a low, red roof of curved Spanish tile. The neighborhood past the residence did not look particularly interesting or savory.

  “There must—”

  “No.” Carla turned to face Tanya.

  Chad was well back and watching her curiously. She tried to keep her voice down but wasn’t having much luck.

  “No, there mustn’t. He’s wonderful. I wish I could love him, but it’s not in me.” She could feel the heat building that she hadn’t been able to unleash on Kyle. She could feel the anger locked up inside her threatening to break loose like a tidal wave.

  Tanya watched her with a calm sympathy that was making her beyond furious.

  “I. Can’t. Love. Okay? Are you happy? I’m a broken bitch and—”

  Something was wrong. Beyond Tanya’s shoulder there was…

  No guard at the side door.

  “—and?” Tanya hadn’t picked up on anything yet.

  The guard at the corner was missing as well.

  “Carla. You can tell me to—”

  “Turn around.” Carla circled around Tanya so that it would look as if they were still talking, but now Tanya faced back along the broad paving between the church and the hospital, back toward the doors.

  Tanya squinted her eyes at Carla’s strange instruction and behavior.

  Carla could feel an itch behind her. An itch between her shoulder blades that was growing by the second. And if Tanya didn’t catch on to it in the next few seconds, Carla was going to take her down and take her down hard. Because either Tanya would see the shift in what was going on by the church, or she had set it up herself.

  Three. Carla braced herself for a hell of a fight.

  Two. Because if Tanya really was Mossad Kidon, she was as well trained as Delta.

  On—

  “Bt-zwyn!” the words hissed out between Tanya’s full lips as her eyes suddenly shot wide.

  “I assume that was pretty foul.”

  “Yes! I would say there is a hit about to go down.”

 
Carla shifted quickly sideways to separate them as targets before moving back toward the church’s side entrance, and to also shift out of Tanya’s immediate reach in case she was playing two sides.

  Chad noticed Carla’s odd pattern of motion and spun to face the building. It took him less than a second to catch on to what was wrong.

  By the time she and Tanya came up alongside Chad, they were moving at a full sprint.

  “Chad, Alpha.”

  He ran past the side entrance and headed for the front of the church. In Delta training, the front of a building was the A side, B was to the left, and so on.

  She hesitated long enough to pull her ankle piece.

  Tanya was wearing shorts and a tight top that accentuated her generous cleavage, but she produced a Beretta .22 from somewhere.

  They ducked in the side door, Carla peeling right and staying low. She hoped Tanya had gone left and was watching her back, rather than about to shoot her in it.

  No guards.

  No Bolívar Estevan.

  No Kyle.

  Shuffling along gently as if there was nothing out of place, tourists were watching her sudden arrival with alarm. Whatever had happened had been fast and quiet.

  Richie once again appeared to be asleep in his pew. Slack-jawed—out cold—not asleep.

  In the third alcove, close by Richie, she spotted the heaped bundle of a ragpicker.

  Duane was down as well.

  A glance back revealed that Tanya had indeed circled wide. Her searching pattern told Carla that she hadn’t spotted any hostiles either. And apparently didn’t have any guards of her own. It had been worrying Carla that she hadn’t spotted any. Maybe Tanya really was working alone here in Venezuela. Major cojones. She liked that in a woman.

  Chad rolled in from the front entrance as Tanya reached the D side of the building and looked out the side door there.

  The roar of a large car’s powerful engine rocketing down the avenida, running close along the north side of the church, told Carla more than she wanted to know.

  Chad doubled back outside, stood in the entrance as a silhouette for a long moment, and then came back into the church more slowly with a shake of his head. The car was too far gone to chase. No need to identify it; neither Bolívar Estevan nor any of his guards were still in evidence.